


Every Earthquake (Starts with a Little Shake)

by orphan_account



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Drag Queen Sole Survivor, Drag Queens, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Humor, M/M, Oblivious MacCready, Romance, mission, so much swearing, some sexual content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-15 18:09:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7233202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick's got a bit of sleuthing he needs done and Derek has the perfect plan. Derek and Nora used to be kind of kinky - but not too kinky - and now Derek's in a dress and MacCready doesn't know what to do with his hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Earthquake (Starts with a Little Shake)

**Author's Note:**

> I really have no clue what this is. The title comes from Citizens of Earth by Neck Deep. The song has nothing to do with drag queens, it just seemed catchy and fitting.

MacCready wanted to strip naked, it was so hot in Diamond City. The back collar of his jacket was soaked with sweat and made the hairs on the back of his neck stick out like wet, confused antennas. The heat from the steal wall of Arturo’s shop burned into his back as he waited for Derek to finish chatting with old Nick Valentine. The air buzzed with chatter as people rushed around the shops one street over, all stocking up on bullets, meat, and the newest noodle recipe Takahashi had on order. Damn, MacCready could have gone for some of those noodles.

Derek had gone straight to Valentine’s agency when they’d gotten into town, not even pausing to drop his power armour back at the house they’d acquired from Doc Crocker when the loon bit the big one. Derek had said he owed Valentine a favour, which MacCready didn’t like. If he could get away with not owing anyone anything ever, he would go for it, especially if the payback was going to end up going a little pear shaped – which it always seemed to do with Valentine. Doc Crocker eating his own bullet about ten seconds after Derek and MacCready started poking around town was only one example.

Not that Derek really seemed to care about the outcome of their little missions, as long as they worked out in his favour in the end. He hadn’t even tried to stop the doctor from killing himself. He’d just searched the lab coat pockets, took the house keys and a few caps, and wished the corpse a nice day. MacCready might have killed for money, but geeze, he had a little heart. At the very least he’d have _asked_ for the house keys.

Whatever Valentine had cooking up this time couldn’t have been much better than the last. Not that MacCready would be given the details, he was sure. He scoffed and spat into the dirt. Derek would horde all the important information like the precious princess he was, until it was abso-frickin’-lutely necessary to share, and even then, he’d probably give some half-assed, bare bones explanation. Just enough for MacCready to play his part, but not enough for him to really be on the team.

He lifted his cap to run a hand through his hair and gaped with horror as it came away drenched, which of course was when Derek came clanking out of the office. He gave MacCready a bemused look from under his sunglasses. “A little hot, there?” he asked. The heat had plastered Derek’s Mohawk to the side of his face, so ha frickin’ ha, MacCready wasn’t the only one swimming in his own sweat.

“Shut up,” MacCready grumbled. “What does the old tin can want?”

“A favour,” Derek shrugged, before marching off towards house. MacCready held back a groan as he kicked off the wall to follow. Caps got him the job, but he wouldn’t be getting any more of them if he couldn’t follow orders, as much as he wanted to stuff Derek’s sweaty socks in his mouth sometimes. While MacCready had never worn power armour, he was sure it yielded some pretty nasty socks. You didn’t prance around in a robosuit under the blazing sun all day without producing some pretty rank sweat.

“A favour like what?”

“Like the favour kind,” Derek said, rolling his eyes as he pushed into the house. The temperature dropped ten degrees as they stepped inside, the shade mixed with their collection of desk fans doing wonders.

They almost collided in the living room as Derek stopped abruptly to eject from the power armour. “I’m going to have to swing by Sanctuary to get some things,” he said. He paused to rub his mangy ginger beard. “You’re welcome to come, if you want, but it won’t be a social visit. Piper’s been wanting to head out that way as it is. I can travel back on my own just fine, if need be. I’m a hearty guy.”

It drove MacCready crazy when Derek did that. He posed what he wanted to do like it was some kind of question – like MacCready _actually_ had a choice in what was going to happen – and then as soon as MacCready took him up on the offer he’d act all grumpy and MacCready would be guilted into doing what Derek wanted anyway. He wasn’t going to fall for that, not this time.

“It’s fine, I’ll go with you,” he caved.

“Great, thanks,” Derek said with a stretch, “We head out again in the morning.”

 

* * *

 

 The trip to Sanctuary was as quick and businesslike as promised. They hit the road in the early morning and reached Sanctuary by nightfall, stopping along the way only to piss and take down a few feral ghouls.

The cobbled-together bar looked friendly enough when they reached town, much friendlier than dealing with Derek’s ninety-nine problems, most of which appeared to be Preston Garvey. MacCready felt no shame in sitting out on their weekly meeting about which settlements needed their help. He had a nice cold beer in his hand and the cool evening breeze on his back as he watched the lights of Sanctuary slowly turn out for the night, until the only one left was the one in Preston’s office.

Around his third cheap beer, MacCready’s head started to loll. It seemed like Derek had been in that office forever. Deciding he had waited long enough, MacCready lurched to his feet and headed over to the house he knew what Derek’s. Picking the lock would have been a hell of a lot easier if the damn keyhole would stop moving, but MacCready eventually found himself tumbling on to Derek’s couch, belly full and eyes heavy. His eyes were just fluttering shut when the door snapped open, wood practically popping off its hinges with a horrifying bang.

MacCready flew off the couch with a refined, completely masculine scream and landed flat on his ass. “Fuc- Frick!” he hissed while scrambling to his feet.

“Do not,” Derek said flatly, pistol pointed in MacCready’s direction, “Break into my house or touch my things.”

“I didn’t touch anything,” MacCready replied, waving a hand. Geeze, way to be touchy. Everything with Derek seemed like it was two steps forward and one step back. One second they were buddies, roaming the wastelands and killing blood thirsty enemies, and the next they were having an uncivil dispute over a few pieces of 230 year old upholstery.

Derek squinted at him a moment before lowering his gun. “Just watch yourself,” he grumbled. “There’s a spare bed in the laundry room.”

MacCready didn’t need to be told twice, although he did wonder why there would need to be a whole room dedicated to laundry. Did people in the past not have buckets or something, so they needed a whole room?

Two hollow machines were stacked on top of each other in the corner of the closet-sized room, the bed taking up the remaining space. It took a bit of wiggling, but MacCready managed to get in to the bed for a bit of rest.

Derek called marching orders at dawn.

 

* * *

 

“You’ve got to wash up when we get back,” Derek said, eyes not leaving the road as they trudged forward. They were an hour out of Diamond City and evening was fast approaching, basking the decaying world in deep reds and purples. “And I mean you need to deep clean. No dirt under your fingernails or any of that shit.”

“What, you think I’m dirty?” MacCready asked, eyebrows raising. They might not have been traveling together too long, but MacCready was starting to get the impression that Derek wasn’t too concerned with personal hygiene, at least not where his hair was concerned. They didn’t really have the means to clean up too often but they did their best when they could. Their best just never included Derek’s ever growing, possibly biome sustaining beard.

MacCready had never even thought of going outside with more than stubble. Beards just looked like good places to get shit stuck in. Literal shit, and bug guts and blood and dirt and whatever the hell else the Commonwealth felt like throwing in his face. Derek kept his chin-mop relatively well kempt, considering the circumstances, but it was still pretty grimy.

“I didn’t say that,” Derek rolled his eyes. “Just promise me you’ll wash up. We’ve got somewhere to be at eight.”

“Do I have time to stop by Arturo’s first? I’ve got about five bullets left and I don’t think you want to see what happens when I’ve used them.”

While Derek was clearly unimpressed with the delay, he nodded. “Fine. But you need to be quick. If we’re not washed and ready to go by eight we’re going to fuck this whole thing up.”

“And what exactly is this thing?” MacCready asked. It wasn’t like the ghouls or raiders would care whether or not the people killing them were a little on the ripe side.

“You’ll find out.”

 

* * *

 

Arturo had exactly what he needed, if not for a somewhat unreasonable price. With the bullets in pocket he returned to Doc Crocker’s house, ready to get his clean on. Shuffling sounds from upstairs told him Derek was already deep in mission preparation mode, which meant he was probably readying the weapons and deciding which flavours of Cram they needed for the road. Derek was always anal about making sure all their guns were good to go, even the ones he never used. Before every mission every weapon had to be cleaned, stripped, and put back together. MacCready had eventually resorted to selling their spare guns just to save a bit of time.

MacCready edged into the bedroom and paused, eyebrows rising into his hairline as he took in the sight in front of him. Derek was _shaving._ MacCready didn’t even realize he had a face under there. He thought the beard went on and on into an infinite hole where most people had a chin. He blinked a few times to assert that he was in fact awake and not having some horribly vivid dream, before he stepped all the way into the room.

“Going for a new look, Boss?” he asked as he collected a bucket and a sponge from the pile of ragtack knickknacks they had piled in a dirty corner.

Derek winked at MacCready in the mirror. “More like an old one,” he said, razor poised just above his make-shift pomade. MacCready watched, somewhat transfixed, as Derek slid the blade over a new section of cheek.

Derek must have gone at the hair with some scissors before hand, for the hair to be so short. How long had he been growing that beard? Probably months, considering how stringy and bedraggled it was. Actually, Derek probably hadn’t shaved since he’d come out of the vault, and hell if MacCready knew how long that had been. Derek wasn’t exactly tight lipped about his travels before he’d brought  MacCready on board, but he certainly wasn’t chatty about them either.

It was shocking to find out that under all those sheared layers, Derek actually wasn’t half bad looking. In fact, he was downright attractive, if MacCready had the guts to say it. The man cleaned up.

“Well, I’ll just be down there,” MacCready said, pointing down to the living room. “Getting clean. With a sponge.” Like he promised.

He took his supplies down and got to work scrubbing all the nitty gritty bits from under his nails and behind his ears. It took at least an hour and two buckets of refreshed water before he felt properly clean. It seemed like an extravagant waste of water and soap, but he’d rather find more than face Derek’s wrath. When that man got into a mood it was all swinging fists, and MacCready did _not_ want to combine that with his own temper when he didn’t have to.

People who ended up on the wrong side of their guns usually didn’t live to tell about it. Actually, that could be said about most of the people who stumbled into their warpath, whether there was fighting involved or not.

He was just shrugging clean clothes on when Derek knocked on the wall to let him know he was coming down. “I’m good,” MacCready called up. Heels clicking on the stairs had him rushing to do up his buttons faster. Why didn’t Derek tell him they had company? When had a women even had time to sneak upstairs?

“Hello, darling-” he said, then stopped abruptly when he caught sight of her. Or perhaps _her_ was the wrong word. “What the fuck are you wearing?”

“Language, MacCready,” Derek reminded, adjusting his dress slightly before pulling a wisp of long hair away from his perfectly painted mouth.  “I heard you like blondes?”

Redfaced and spluttering, MacCready took a step backwards towards the door. This was a whole other can of worms he hadn’t been expecting to find in his Vault Tec lunch box. “But _why_? Where the hell did you get this stuff?”

If MacCready hadn’t spent the last three weeks practically plastered to Derek, he was pretty positive he wouldn’t have recognized him as Derek at all. Derek’s beard was gone and his usual military fatigues were replaced by a smooth, sleek red dress. His normally ginger Mohawk had been tucked under a sleek blonde wig that fell to his – fake – breasts in seductive waves, and the makeup on his face was applied with extreme care. Not that MacCready knew all that much about makeup, but he was pretty sure that it probably took a lot to make a dude look like a convincing woman and Derek was nailing it.

“I just grabbed it from my house,” Derek shrugged. “Looks like locking some of my drawers came in handy. Although I got lucky on the make-up. The stuff I had was long expired, but Carla was able to hook me up with newer product.”

“But _why?_ ”

“We’re going to a party,” Derek said, eyebrows raised as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Nothing weird to see, no.

“ _We_?” MacCready asked, incredulous. “Like hell you’re getting me in a getup like that.” He could just see himself trotting around with the grace of a legless swan, all odd angles and hairy legs. No thanks.

“Of course not,” Derek rolled his eyes. “You’re being my husband. Why would my husband also be in a dress?”

The fuck?  “Alright, go back about five minutes here. What is the plan and why are you in a dress?” he asked as he collapsed back on to the ratty couch and lifted his cap to run a hand through his hair.

“Ann Codman is having a little get together,” Derek explained as he crossed the room. He drew each word out as if MacCready was particularly slow and ended his show by pushing MacCready back against the couch and slinking into his lap. “All of the Commonwealth’s rich and famous will be there. As we’re rich but not famous in any beneficial way, I figured we’d have to get a little creative.”

Somehow, MacCready still felt like he was missing a lot of pieces, along with his personal space. Unsure of what to do with his hands, he awkwardly set one on Derek’s back and the other on the arm of the couch.  “And you had all of this stuff in your house because…?” he asked. The glint in Derek’s eye made him regret it almost instantly.

Derek traced a finger across MacCready’s chest and leaned in to speak low into his ear. “My wife was into it.”

The dead wife. The one who _apparently_  got very turned on by her husband in heels, which was not a mental picture MacCready had ever been banking on. Now he really didn’t know what to do with his hands.

“So it was a sex thing?”

“Oh, it was definitely a sex thing,” Derek agreed, his smirk not quite making it to his eyes.

“And we’re going to break into a party – for some reason – using your skills from this… sex thing?”

“Give or take,” Derek said, smirk coming back as he tilted his head. Oh lord, like this, MacCready could see where the fornication came into play. Derek had solid cheekbones and a panty-dropping smile, when it wasn’t covered in bloatfly guts and Takahashi’s famous noodles. And when he wasn’t scowling and barking orders.

As if sensing MacCready’s thoughts, Derek leapt out of his lap again and strolled across the room towards the desk, where he bent in half to search for something in the bottom drawer. A butt shake or two later – and really, had his butt always looked that good? – he emerged victorious, a tiny letter clutched in his hand.

“Go get dressed, darling,” he intoned, pitching his voice into a practiced falsetto. “We’re going to be late.”

Oh lord.

 

* * *

 

Calling the party a little get together was really inaccurate. There were at least fifty people swanning around the Colonial Taphouse, which had been cleaned from top to bottom and adorned with ribbons and fancy table cloths. Someone had rigged up candles in glass jars to provide perfect mood lighting and the semi-darkness cast long, seductive shadows across Derek’s face as he moseyed around the floor and wedged his way into people’s conversations. MacCready mostly remained silent, in part because he was still shocked by what he was seeing and in part because he didn’t want to risk his fake moustache toppling off his face. Apparently, Derek’s suitcase of wonders yielded a lot more than just wigs and fancy dresses.

“I’m Desiree,” Derek said, offering a hand for the man in front of him to shake. Every introduction came with a flutter of eyelashes and a seductive appraisal before Derek turned to introduce MacCready. “This is my husband, Tony. We’re so happy to have been invited. We don’t leave New Vegas much anymore, not since my darling blew out his knee visiting our factory.”

“That’s a far trip,” the man in front of him said.

“Oh, we hired the best caravan to bring us,” Derek lied. “We wouldn’t miss an opportunity to visit our old friend Ann. She invited me to sing tonight, you know. I was honoured. I’m popular in Vegas, but I didn’t realize she’d remember a name like mine, not after so many years.”

It was complete and utter hogwash, but if anyone noticed, no one said anything. If they thought it was unbelievable that a singer would travel so far with their husband, the owner of a light fixture manufacturing business in New Vegas, then they said nothing.

“Don’t mind him, he doesn’t talk much,” Derek had said to another couple. “That’s why he keeps me on his arm. Other than to make the other men jealous, I suspect. His company mainly works with bits and bobs like broken glass and used nail clippers, although I don’t understand how it works myself. It’s all very complicated.”

“It is,” MacCready agreed. Good grief. He nabbed a beer off a passing waiter and tried – and mostly failed – to drink it around the glue on his moustache.

“Oh honey,” Derek said, yanking the drink away, causing  MacCready’s head to jerk forward unsuccessfully as he went for another mouthful. “You know you don’t do well with beer,” he turned to the other couple and waved a hand, “It makes his stomach all gassy. It’s terrible to sleep next to.”

 _Says the farting king of the Commonwealth_ , MacCready thought bitterly. What was the point of sneaking into a fancy-ass party if he couldn’t even get wasted enough to enjoy it? If people noticed his awful mood they didn’t say anything. They mostly nodded politely, said things like, ‘oh,’ and, ‘I own three suits of retro power armor art, actually,’ and whole heartedly bought Derek’s bullshit without giving MacCready a second glance, which meant MacCready was stuck with an arm wrapped loosely around Derek’s waist as Desiree flirted obnoxiously with every man in sight.

“Oh, I do love a good power armour,” Derek said, smiling slowly as he looked the man in front of him up and down, eyes pausing perhaps a moment too long on his thighs. “They’re very… firm.”

MacCready wanted to gag. “Do you want another drink, darling?” he asked, eyeing the drink Derek had plucked off a tray at some point, although he couldn’t remember him every drinking it. Asshole, way to set up a double standard.

Derek smiled tightly in reply, turning his attention from the man next to him to kiss MacCready’s cheek. “You know drinking too much before a show ruins my vocal chords, honeybear,” he said in a slow, low timber that sent shivers up MacCready’s back.

“Husbands,” the woman next to them replied, “They never remember anything, do they? Like this lug here,” she slapped the man Derek had been chatting up on the shoulder, “Completely forgot our anniversary, he did. Didn’t buy me a thing.”

“Hey! I’m not the only one,” the guy complained, “People forget things all the time. I bet you’ve forgotten yours at least once too, man, am I right?”

Suddenly, the inane nature of the conversation was too much to handle. How dare that dic- jerk accuse him of being a crappy husband? MacCready had been a fu-fricking wonderful husband, when he had the chance. “I always buy her things,” he growled threateningly.

Derek laughed and put a hand on top of the one resting on his waist, giving it a warning squeeze. “Don’t mind him. He doesn’t like functions like these. Have you known Ann long?”

The man and woman looked at each other a few minutes before the woman piped up, seemingly ticking off years on her fingers as she spoke. “Oh, a few,” she said, “We met through a party of a friend, actually. All our husbands own agriculture operations.”

“Would you say she lets you in on her best tips and tricks, then?” Derek asked. “I’ve been looking to start a small garden myself. Fresh grown tatos are very popular this year, according to _Publik Occurences_. I grabbed a copy on my way into town. Your city really is beautiful.”

“Why thank you, although we see the paper more as a pest than a blessing. Ann actually focuses more on meat, so I don’t know about tips and tricks for vegetables,” the woman said. For a moment, it seemed like she wasn’t going to give anything more. Then her eyes darted around the room, carefully, and she licked her lips. “Although she tells me she has a garden growing of her own. Not for tatos. Herbs, she calls them, although they’re none I’ve ever heard of before. You might want to ask her yourself, but she’s rather tight lipped these days.”

Derek stood up a little straighter as he listened, his Desiree persona slipping a bit as recognition clouded his eyes. MacCready could feel the muscles in Derek’s back contracting as he mentally shifted from singer to solider and back. It was rather unnerving, actually. He’d have to keep one eye open when he slept from now on. Who knew what kind of lies Derek had seamlessly weaved into his life? How many of them had MacCready bought?

“Thank you for helping anyway,” Derek said, voice honey smooth. “Have you tried some of the sandwiches they’re passing around? They’re absolutely delicious, although the mirelurk shell shards are a bit crunchy for my tastes.”

It was another twenty minutes before they could pull away again, and once they did, Derek insisted on dancing.

“I would like to dance,” he said tightly, dragging MacCready on to the floor and tangling them tightly together to sway to the music. With their bodies pressed so close, they could talk freely, although they still needed to be quiet. “Why are you being such a dick?”

“Me?” MacCready squawked. A slap to the shoulder make him lower his voice. “You’re the one who dragged me here for some- some _thing_ without even telling me what it is. I hate rich people. I hate social games.”

“Well, you’re ruining _my_ game,” Derek hissed. “I’ve almost got everything I need. Play along for another hour or so and then we can go, alright? And for godssake, make it look like you actually like me. You’ve got the hottest wife in this whole damn room.”

“Oh yeah, I can tell by all the guys who want to fuck you.”

“They _do_ want to fuck me.”

MacCready snorted. “Wouldn’t they be in for a surprise?”

“Oh, just-” Derek nipped at MacCready’s neck, not at all kindly. MacCready jerked back from the sting.

“Did you just?”

“I did. You’re going to blow our cover if you keep doing this,” Derek said, before pressing MacCready into a deep kiss. It was much more enjoyable than it should have been, all things considered. MacCready had been expecting stubble or more teeth, along with a list of other things he definitely had thought about in passing but never thought would happen, and instead got Derek, crude, usually unshaven Derek, kissing him tenderly in a room full of rich snobs who could potentially murder them for intruding any second. He couldn’t tell if he was turned on or if it was jus the adrenaline.

“You know, you normally tell a guy you like him first.”

“Oh, shut up,” Derek said, before kissing him again.

 

* * *

 

A store room had been unlocked for party odds and ends, which included Derek’s performance props, MacCready learned. The lightbulb above their heads swung dangerously as Derek dropped all persona. He didn’t, however, let go of MacCready’s hand. It had been half an hour since they danced and in that time they’d spoken to probably ten different parties, each who had seemed only marginally bright and far too intoxicated.

“That’s all we needed,” Derek said, although whatever information he had gathered was totally lost on MacCready. “I’ll perform and we’ll be out of here in half an hour.”

MacCready huffed. “I still have no clue how you learned how to do all this sh- stuff.”

Desiree’s coy smile slid back into place as Derek reached up to rub MacCready’s jaw. “Does it really matter?” he asked, looking up at him through his lashes. “We got what we came for and no one suspects a thing. They think I’m some sweet singer here with my handsome man. They’re probably all jealous of you being in this closet, you know. People can get up to a lot of trouble in closets.” He ran a hand down MacCready’s abdomen and squeezed his thigh, making him jump.

The closet was far too hot for MacCready to grace that with a proper response. He suddenly wished he’d been given looser dress pants. Since when could Derek, _of all people_ , twist him up so fast? “I didn’t think we were those kind of people,” he said, voice low and cheeks furiously pink.

“We could be,” Derek suggested. Both his treacherous hands slid up to rest on MacCready’s shoulders as his eyes danced with barely concealed mischief. Was this some kind of trick? If it was, MacCready wished Derek would knock it off. He didn’t like problems he couldn’t shoot.

“And if I said I’d never thought of you that way?”

“I’d say there’s always time,” Derek shrugged.

Kissing had come up in his thoughts once or twice in regards to Derek, but the act was usually followed by an ounce of repulsion. Getting loose beard hair covered in ghoul blood in his mouth mid-kiss wasn’t exactly an idea he relished. However, he had to say, with the beard gone, the new proposal wasn’t unappealing. Derek had been an alright guy the last few weeks, if not secretive and infuriating, and it had been far too long since MacCready had had sex.

Someone knocked on the door as MacCready went to reply, cutting whatever he was about to say off at the pass.

“Tell me after my show,” Derek said. “I have to teach Magnolia how to really belt a number.” He pushed MacCready up against the door and kissed him long and slow, gripping his arms like the mercenary might try to escape, or perhaps might be taken from him. Then he was pushing MacCready out of the way, all swinging hips and flirty glances as he made his way to the makeshift stage.

Windswept. MacCready felt windswept. He instinctively reached to thumb his cap, only to remember that he hadn’t been allowed to wear it. Shi- fuc- darn, what the hell was he getting into? This wasn’t in the verbal contract he had signed when he agreed to ride along with Derek for 250 caps. He ran a hand through his hair and went to take his seat.

Most of the tables were full, but he was able to find a seat near the front of the room, where he’d be able to cover Derek if things suddenly went horribly wrong, like he’d been expecting them to since they first walked in the door.

It occurred to him that he was failing as a pick pocket. They were in a room filled with rich people, probably swimming in ammo, and he was just sitting on his ass, rather than taking it. He could have been the ammo robin hood, stealing from the rich and giving to the needy. The needy namely being himself. Maybe he’d have to nick some stuff once Derek started singing and the jig was up.

Except the jig _wasn’t_ up. MacCready nearly fell out of his chair as Derek started to sing, his voice rich, sultry and full of promise. That _definitely_ wasn’t something they taught in the army. Derek’s voice was low for a woman’s, but it fit the tone of the room, and no one could question it fit with his performance as he slunk along the stage, one hand rubbing up the side of his body while the other was pulling the microphone.

Halfway through the third song, Derek left the stage to perch on MacCready’s lap, making the crowd cheer and MacCready want to throw himself off the nearest high-rise.

 “Get off me,” he grumbled, face red as a tato, but Derek just winked and ran a hand through MacCready’s hair as he continued to sing. Giving Derek’s thigh a warning squeeze only seemed to encourage him. With exaggerated grace, he stood from MacCready’s lap and pressed the mercenary’s face into his – fake – breasts.

Derek was a rad storm MacCready couldn’t outrun. It was easier to let himself get swept up in the flood of acid. He yelped and pushed away from his friend, who laughed raucously along with the crowd. “We’re in public!” he screeched jokingly. That put his earlier concern to bed – it wasn’t just the adrenaline. Whatever had Derek in a good mood had MacCready seriously turned on.

Derek smirked, kissed him lightly, and went back to the stage to sing, leaving MacCready behind to reclaim his spot and adjust his moustache. Considering Derek was the one who insisted on the facial hair, he sure was determined to knock it off MacCready’s face as quickly as possible.

A few people in the back of the room began to squabble as the performance went on. It looked like Ann Codman was having some kind of issue, although MacCready wasn’t about to volunteer to find out what. He didn’t know what Derek had said to pull off his lies, but he wasn’t going to blow it by bumbling over and revealing he wasn’t who he said he was by accident. Derek’s eyes kept flickering back there too, although he looked much less concerned. He looked like he was expecting it, actually, although that could have been MacCready projecting. Derek was always more in the loop than him, after all.

Then an old man two tables over smashed face-first into his table, impaling his eye with a fork. People started screaming as MacCready jumped to his feet, instinctively going to Derek’s side. Derek, who had had abruptly stopped singing as soon as the collapse happened, had a small pistol in his hand and his dress hiked up high enough to show the garter he grabbed it from.

“We go now,” he said, using the gun to gesture to the door. MacCready didn’t need to be told twice. He pushed his way through the crowd, elbowing a few overly excited people out of his way as he went. Another woman had fallen, her face cracking loudly against the concrete floor. Then another. Then another. MacCready didn’t see how many were down by the time they got to the door, but he did see the woman who told them about the herbs lying on the floor at the back of the room, her abdomen partially crushed by a fallen decorative pillar.

“What the hell-” MacCready asked as they thumped down the metal stairs that lead to the rest of the city. Guards seemed to be gathering on the far side of the square. It would be best to get back to Doc Crocker’s house before they started asking questions.

Derek lead the way to the house, pausing when they were a few doors down to push MacCready against the wall. “Pretend we’re kissing,” he said, before swooping in to give MacCready a big one, right as four guards jogged passed. MacCready wanted to point out that they _were_ kissing, but his mouth was a little preoccupied.

“You’ve got to stop doing that,” he said as soon as they broke the kiss.

“Do I have to?” Derek purred, leaning his full weight against the mercenary as he licked his lips.

“What just happened?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Derek said, kissing him again. “What’s your answer on my earlier proposal?”

“I’ll tell you when we get in.”

They almost didn’t make it to the bed when they got inside. MacCready had his hands on Derek’s waist as soon as the door was closed, his faced pressed into the blonde wig as he kissed Derek’s neck. “This a good enough yes?” he asked. “Here, sex to go along with your kinky sex thing..”

Derek hummed and tipped his neck back to give McCready more space. “You called it that first, not me.”

“You confirmed it,” MacCready pointed out, kissing up Derek’s jaw between words. “You looked good up there.”

“I think I’ve done better tucks,” Derek disagreed, reaching down to adjust his crotch. It took MacCready a horrified moment to realize what he meant.

“We have to get you out of that.”

“That’s the best thing you’ve said all night.”

Derek let go of MacCready to climb up the stairs, swaying his hips and inching the dress up bit by bit with every step he took. There was a flash of lacy panties before he rounded the bend that left MacCready reeling. Jesus Almighty. By the time MacCready got to the top of the stairs the dress was on the floor, along with an overly padded bra. Derek sat on the bed with his hair over his shoulders like a pre-war mermaid.

“Oh, Robert,” he crooned, “Come to bed, Daddy.”

MacCready grimaced. “Please, please never do that again.”

Derek cackled as he fell back on the bed, arms open in waiting for his blushing lover. MacCready took his time taking off his suit, as much to make a show of it as to get his heart rate back under control. He folded the pieces before he slid into bed. “I haven’t done this in a while,” he warned, but he was already kissing down Derek’s chest as Derek’s long fingers tangled in his hair.

“Bet I haven’t done it in longer,” Derek joked.

“Were you expecting this?”

Derek shook his head, panting softly as MacCready’s hands brushed his thighs. “No, but I’m not complaining.”

First order of business was the supposed tuck, which was just as horrifying as MacCready imagined. “I don’t want to know why you thought this was a good idea,” he said, trying and failing miserably to come up with a good way to get it undone himself.

Derek huffed and propped himself up to deal with it. “Fine, then I won’t tell you,” he groused. If that was a comeback, it was a terrible one. Definitely not up to Derek’s usual calibre. “Come on.”

Once the worst was out of the way, MacCready was back on course, kissing up pale, freckled thighs and feeling the tight muscles of a solider under his fingers. Derek smelled like fresh soap and perfume, and something distinctly masculine. His dick was already half hard by the time MacCready took it into his mouth.

Admitedly, MacCready had done this in never and wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing, but from the sounds Derek was making he must have been doing it right. He pumped the base of his dick, where he wasn’t brave enough to dare try and reach, while his other hand rested heavy on the other man’s thigh. Derek’s hand knotted in MacCready’s hair and his hips shook with the effort of staying still.

“Robert,” Derek moaned. Then the tables were turning. MacCready found himself on his back with Derek propped above him, the other man smiling predatorily as his wig toppled off his shoulder. “Let me get a minute to catch my breath,” he said, leaning down to kiss him. “It’s no fair if it’s just me getting worked up.”

He slid a calloused, war beaten hand down between them to slowly stroke MacCready’s steadily stiffening cock. MacCready groaned and gripped on to his shoulders, pulling him into another searing kiss. They rested against each other a moment, panting into each other’s necks, before Derek slid off and lay on his side.

“I haven’t done _this_ in years,” he laughed lightly. “Put your dick between my thighs.”

MacCready clumsily obliged, wrapping an arm around Derek’s waist once he was situated. His breath caught with the first thrust, Derek’s soft mewls mirroring his own as they moved together, skin brushing sensitive skin. Even this was almost too much, after so many months wandering the wastelands with only a hand for company. MacCready fumbled for Derek’s cock and began stroking it in time with his thrusts, lazily bringing them both closer and closer.

He lightly bit into Derek’s shoulder as he came with a stifled moan, Derek following him a few furious strokes later. MacCready lay soft and panting until Derek started to shift against him.

“I think you’ve got tissues on the floor,” the mercenary pointed out, somewhat unhelpfully as Derek was already reaching for them. He cleaned up quick before rolling over to prop his head up on MacCready’s shoulder. His wig was long forgotten and his make up long destroyed.

What would Lucy say, if she could see MacCready now? He didn’t want to know. She would probably understand all of it even less than him. Never in his wildest dreams had he expected _this_ to be how his day would end, let alone with Derek. Did this mean they were a thing now? Did Derek want them to be? Or was this one of those one offs people had, where the mood and the timing lined up just so, so everything fell into place and then the moment was over.

“Was this really a sex thing?” he asked, recognizing that his question was ambiguous. He waved one hand in the air. “Seems like a heck of a lot of fanfare just to get your rocks off. Not that that part wasn’t great.”

Derek chuckled. “It was, actually,” he said, although his tone sobered as he spoke. “At least, it was at first. Nora thought it was fun to dress me up, and it was a good way to let off some stress when I was getting ready to join the army. It was kind of cool to be someone else for a bit. I was a war hero, by the way. Before the bombs dropped. I helped in some pretty big battles, but I messed up my arm for a while and had to take a home front position. I got back from the war and didn’t adjust too well. War never changes, but it changes you, you know? Nora was at her wits end with me, so I started performing at a club a few times a month. I was good, too. Which I guess you saw. Nora liked watching, I liked doing it, our marriage improved… It was still a sex thing when I got home, of course, but not so much during the day.”

The more MacCready learned about America before the bombs dropped the more confused he was about it, but he tended to stay tight lipped unless Derek said something particularly strange. He didn’t know what kind of shows Derek was talking about, but he could guess. It was probably burlesque. But with more dudes? Heck if he knew. The one strip club left in Goodneighbour offered a lot more skin than it did showmanship and what Derek was wearing earlier seemed to fall into the second category. And the _singing_. The only person who put on a show like that was Magnolia. The strippers and prostitutes didn’t care enough to refine their artistic trades.

“Well, it was. Uh. Nice,” MacCready offered. Yeah. Nice. “I’m uh. Glad I could help you let some stuff go.” Like jizz and morals.

Derek raised an eyebrow at him and cleared his throat. “I spill that much about myself and you think this is a one-off?”

“I- didn’t know what to make of it?” MacCready blinked in response. “It doesn’t have to be. If you don’t want it to be. It could mean something.” Oh lord. Maybe he should have been more clear about what exactly was on the table before he took the offer. He seriously hadn’t thought of Derek that way before, but if that’s what Derek was looking for there was no harm in trying. “But if we’re going to do this I want to lay down the law a bit. You tell me what’s going on from now on, okay? No more of this vague bullsh- crap.”

Derek nodded and sat up a little bit. “Scout’s honour.”

“Which means what, exactly?” MacCready asked. He’d never met any particularly honourable scouts. They all seemed just as likely to stab you in the back as anyone else in the common wealth.

“It’s a-” Derek’s face screwed up as he tried to think of the best way to explain. “You know what, don’t worry about it. I’ll try to give you more of a game plan from now on. And I’ll be less of a dick.”

Recognizing that that was probably the best he was going to get, MacCready leaned over and sealed their lips together in a quick kiss.  “Alright,” he said, “Start with what the hell happened this night. What were we doing for Nick, and why did people just start dropping like bloatflies?”

“Oh-” Derek said, before propping off the bed to grab himself a cigarette. He sat back, lit it and inhaled before speaking again. “He just wanted to know if Codman was the one poisoning her competitors. Which she is, for the record. Herbs my ass. We’ll have to go round her place in the morning to confirm, but I’m pretty sure it’s no oregano she’s got growing, unless it’s the kind of oregano that’s actually radioactive hemlock. The commotion at the end tonight was probably her doing. Poisoned wine, probably. The guards will be looking into it, but you know how they are. One of Nick’s clients asked him to look into it because he was suspicious. Nick is too big a figure around town so he asked if I knew anyone who could help. I improvised.”

MacCready huffed. “Now was that really so hard?” he asked. “Seriously, you could have told me that yesterday and saved so much trouble.”

Derek smirked and took a drag of his cigarette. He held it for a moment, winked, and then exhaled. “I like watching you squirm too much.”

And like that, MacCready knew he was done in. There was no escaping whatever the hell this was and it had nothing to do with being bought by caps. If Derek was like a tidal wave, MacCready was already drowning. He didn’t think he wanted to be saved.


End file.
